


mistakes built to last

by amorremanet



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: (between Keith & Ryan. but they'll get out of it eventually), Accidental Marriage, Adam (Voltron) Is A Good Friend, Alien Cultural Differences, Alternate Universe - Canon, Background James Griffin/Ryan Kinkade, Forced Marriage, Gay Disaster Shiro (Voltron), Hijinks & Shenanigans, Idiots in Love, Iverson (Voltron) is Shiro's Godfather, Keith (Voltron) is Bad at Feelings, Long Live Feedback Comment Project, M/M, Mutual Pining, Not Voltron: Legendary Defender Season/Series 08 Compliant, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pidge | Katie Holt & Shiro Friendship, Post-Canon, Rating May Change, Sheith Month 2019, Sheith are in love, Shiro (Voltron) is Bad at Feelings, Shiro (Voltron) is a Dork, Space Magic, Universe Alteration, galaxy garrison shenanigans
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-06-07 18:01:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19474444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amorremanet/pseuds/amorremanet
Summary: Shiro has known that he’s in love with Keith since nearly dying of glowing magical wounds on some barren, lizard-infested hellhole.Of course, he hasn’tdoneanything about being in love with Keith. As far as Shiro’s concerned, Keith’s“I love you”only came from platonic love and desperation. Romantic rejectionmustbe a complete metaphysical certitude; there’s no way that Keith would actually want him like that. Still, Shirowantsto tell Keith how he feels—he owes Keith that much, doesn’t he?Keith has been in love with Shiro since he was a hotheaded fifteen-year-old prodigy who barely understood what “love” was. When confessing his feelings at the cloning facility didn’t end in them getting together, Keith figured he should try to move on. Not that he succeeded, but he hasn’t really put the effort in, either. He could totally do it; he just hasn’ttried, okay? No one’s given Keithreasonto try.Accidentally marrying Ryan Kinkade, then, should answer all of Keith’s unspoken prayers—so, why does that only make things worse?





	mistakes built to last

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Sheith Month 2019, and running behind schedule because I couldn’t make up my mind about what I wanted to do until this idea came up out of nowhere and thwacked me on the head, shrieking, “Write me! Write meeee!!!”—so, here we are.
> 
> Please note: **the fact that Keith and Ryan don’t make a good romantic pair in this particular universe is NOT meant as ship-bashing or as any kind of reflection on the ship as a whole.** I actually really like Keith/Ryan, but in this fic’s reality, they have very different styles of doing relationships, very different needs in relationships, and…… oh. Yeah. They only got into this relationship accidentally, then were forced to stay in it by the Head of State on a planet that’s a low-key alien theocracy, at the risk of causing an Intergalactic Incident by disrespecting the aliens’ traditions and culture with a quickie divorce.
> 
> Also, they’re in love with Shiro and James, respectively, in this reality, which makes being married to each other sort of a downer for both of them.
> 
> Other miscellaneous notes: Lotor is good, actually. He and Allura are fine, and she helped save all universes without needing to sacrifice herself because I don’t like that ending. Adam didn’t die; he and Shiro talked when Team Voltron got back to Earth and went back to being friends. Lance and Allura broke up at some point, and now, they are totally the friends who send each other, “Have good sex!” texts before going to have “quality time” with Lotadam and Zezor, respectively. Adam, Ryan, Pidge, and Matt are Jewish. I’ll probably add more notes in the chapter A/N’s as this goes on.
> 
> Title shamelessly lifted from George Michael’s “Freedom 90.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Shiro frets about Keith being delayed on a mission, other people act weird, and Keith has a surprise that Shiro isn’t going to enjoy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the day one prompt, “marriage/divorce.”

Come ten-hundred hours, Keith’s supposed to land at the Garrison, back from another long mission. This time, he’s been on Planet Kyrox, a deeply spiritual world out in the Brastiq System.

He’s late. Because of course he is. Worse, he’s late after already getting held up an extra three days. Because life is cruel, and unfair, and when you really get down to brass tacks about adding up the available evidence, it certainly seems that the quasi-sentient underlying fabric of the universe—the unseen but always present force, as it were, that ties everything together—has it out for Shiro, personally.

“Calm down,” Pidge drawls without looking up from tinkering with her latest project. “There’s nothing wrong and nobody coming for you like that; Keith’s literally just running late. He, Acxa, Adam, and the MFE Squad hit some kind of rough situation—”

“That could mean a _lot_ of things, though, Katie.” With a huff, Shiro leans against an empty space on her worktable. He folds his arms over his chest, grateful that his new prosthetic lets him hug himself. Being attached to his shoulder helps, plus Lotor and Allura’s new, de-bulked design actually matches Shiro’s organic arm. “‘Rough situation’ _could_ mean an unexpected storm that Keith could handle flying in his sleep—or it _could_ mean that they ran into some Honerva revivalist cult weirdos—”

“I think that’s seriously unlikely—”

“Maybe one of those rabid, Sendak-worshipping wannabes started making trouble—and I mean, _real_ trouble, this time—”

“All they said in their last transmission was, _‘a. rough. situation.’_ You’re getting a lot of ideas out of three little words—”

“They must’ve said more than that, though. Didn’t they give you _any_ details about whatever they ran into?”

Waving in the direction of her toolbox, Pidge says, “If you’re gonna stand around here like the hot, statuesque lab assistant that Mom and Dad and Matt won’t let me hire, but _probably_ with bigger tits? Act like it and hand me the Phillips screwdriver.”

Although he obliges her, Shiro makes sure she sees him frowning. “I’m your superior officer, Lieutenant Holt.”

“Then why’d you get me a fake ID for my last birthday.” Blinking up at him, Pidge purses her lips into the most singularly unimpressed face Shiro has ever seen from her, this week. “I’m just saying: you probably lost the right to play the ‘superior officer’ card somewhere between taking me out to Scandals and teaching me how to order a drink without telling the entire club that I’m not old enough for alcohol.”

“Yeah, well, Ms. Cherry Poppins picked up on it anyway, so.” He shrugs. “Way to go on listening?”

This statement earns him the sight of Pidge holding her index and middle fingers up in a _V._ Eyes dulling over, she turns her hand so he can see her knuckles. Raising the makeshift pussy to her mouth, Pidge sticks out her tongue and blows a raspberry. “If your drag queen friend figured out how old I am, that’s not my problem. Unless she starts bartending and denies me drinks, I guess.”

“Or unless she tells the kings who work there. Because some of the regular cast members at Scandals have personal rules about that, so you might be outta luck for scoring a date.” Inhaling deeply, Shiro drags his prosthetic fingers through his silver hair. “Like, when I was your age and going out with a fake ID? One of the queens working at the bar called herself Anastasia Kumonanoff, which got my interest right away since…? How often are you gonna find someone who’s creative, witty, drop-dead gorgeous, _and_ a Trekkie—”

“I mean, I’d say it’s more likely than you think, but I’m admittedly biased because you’re sitting right next to me—”

“Anyway, I didn’t hit on Anastasia until she was out of drag, but…” Shiro cringes. If only he could reach back in time and make his eighteen-year-old self less of a disaster—or a less glaringly obvious disaster, at least. “The issue wasn’t my age; it was specifically that, if I’d gotten a bartender caught, they would have gotten in more trouble with the cops than I would’ve done. Then, that could potentially endanger the entire bar, and several people’s livelihoods, including all of the performers’—”

“So, why’d you get me a fake ID, if that’s the case?”

“Because I talked to Michiyo and Jeanine—the owners—first. Made sure the unwritten policy was still, ‘As long as the under-twenty-ones don’t do anything too wildly stupid, we aren’t reporting anything’—”

“Then, why is it an issue?”

“Because someone else could catch them selling you liquor.” Shiro wilts as he lets out a sigh. “Also, it’s the principle of the thing. The fact that someone doesn’t think about other people’s livelihoods before doing something dangerous is kind of a turn-off for most people. Or that’s what Anastasia said when she turned me down, which? Fair enough, honestly? Plus, in her defense, I was a complete idiot at that age—”

“Don’t worry; you’re still an idiot.” With a smirk like a kitten about to knock over an antique porcelain vase, Pidge adds, “Unless you’re gonna _talk_ to a certain beautiful, braid-wearing Marmora leader about your feelings for him? In which case, I retract that insult.”

“Oh, _now_ who’s reading too much into three little words?” With no regard for what he wants from anything, Shiro’s cheeks flush so hot, Allura, Merla, and Coran can probably see his blush on New Altea. Rubbing at the back of his neck doesn’t help, nor does ducking his chin as though Katie won’t be able to see him if he stops looking in her direction. “By the way, why did I _ever_ tell you anything that happened at Honerva’s cloning facility?”

“Because you were sulking and being a pouty bitch all over everybody, thinking Keith had a new boyfriend when he actually didn’t. Which you would’ve _known_ , if you’d _listened_ to pretty much anybody, but…?” Quirking her shoulders as if nothing she’s saying could possibly strike anyone as odd, Pidge huffs. “So, rather than let you continue acting quite that stupid, Adam, Lotor, and I fed you tequila shots until you opened up about how badly you want to ride Keith’s dick.”

Heat spills further down Shiro’s neck, but he insists, “The parts I remember went _very_ differently.”

“Of course they did, you romantic sap. The conversation went on for _hours_ ; I’m condensing things to make a point—”

“You point is _wrong_ , though—”

“Not really. I’m cutting to the best parts of that night, but—”

“You’re cutting out the parts that capture my true feelings about Keith—”

“Trust me, Shiro: you’re grateful that I’m excising things, right now. If only I could bleach my mind clean of all your swoony, starry-eyed, shit-faced rhapsodizing about Keith’s sad, beautiful, bewitching eyes, glimmering like celestial amethysts forged in the hearts of dying stars and containing all the mysteries upon untold mysteries of our universe.” By way of emphasizing her point, Pidge sticks out her tongue and makes a retching sound. “Seriously, _Lotor_ was less purple than your alleged poetry.”

The more Pidge talks, the closer her blasé tone gets to covering up the absurdity of Shiro’s ex, his best friend, and his surrogate little sister pulling a stunt like they did. Not that she entirely succeeds in masking that aspect of the situation, but Shiro can admit his own biases, as the guy on the receiving end of their high-proof interrogation tactics. Not that they were in the wrong, either, resorting to desperate measures when Shiro forced their hands. As he drums his prosthetic fingers on his elbow, though, Shiro silently curses Haggar and the Druids for tricking him out with all kinds of basically-superpowers, but skipping the enhanced alcohol resistance.

“Anyway,” Pidge goes on, “I stand by what I’ve been telling you this whole time: it’s not fair on Keith, deciding that he doesn’t want you back based on your stupid hunches—which, for the record, are the same as absolutely nothing. Regardless of how he answers, you _do_ owe him the chance to hear your feelings and decide his own for himself.”

Of course, she’s right about that. Even if she weren’t, she stares at Shiro like she means to shoot magical super-lasers out of her eyes and straight into his soul, which would give him all the reason he needs to stow his objections and listen to Katie “Pidge” Holt, aged nearly-nineteen, about handling his own so-called love life. He’d rather not let anybody pneumatically carve him up, but especially not Pidge. Bested only by Lotor, Pidge has the acumen to poke someone in exactly the right ways and the drive to persist until she finds whatever she wants to learn.

Thankfully, the comms on Pidge’s other side crackle before Shiro can accuse her of anything like that. Blithely nonchalant as usual, Matt chimes in, “Hey, Katie? Is Admiral Pouty McBitch-Face still hanging out with you? If he is, can you please let him know that his boyfriend’s pulling into his Mom’s hangar?”

“Katie isn’t your _secretary_ , Matt; you can tell me that _yourself_ ,” Shiro grouses, as soon as Pidge pushes the button to page Matt back. “By the way: I am your superior officer, Lieutenant Commander Holt.”

“Then how come I always have to rescue you from Bae-Bae The Suffocating Canine Kiss-Monster?”

While Matt makes a noise like blowing a raspberry and sounds so like his sister that it’s almost disturbing, Pidge simply shrugs. Every inch of her radiates an _I told you so_ that, given precedent with her, Shiro should be grateful she’s (mostly) keeping to herself, for now. Later on—once he’s met Keith, gotten him settled back into his room at Shiro’s place off-campus, caught up about the mission (both by reading the crews’ reports and asking Keith how he’s doing), and given himself enough time to drink in the beautiful details of Keith’s face—Shiro will probably hear no end to the litany of reminders that Pidge did, indeed, tell him so about how she and Matt talk to him.

“If you’re serious about playing the superior officer card,” she says, “then you should try _not_ acting like our long-lost brother.”

“Oh, what _ever_.” Shiro rolls his eyes and shoves himself off of Pidge’s workbench. “I don’t have time for this; I need to go meet Keith.”

Definitely not Shiro’s best pre-exit one-liner, but at this point, he’ll take whatever gets him to his Keith faster.

* * *

The Tenō Noshiko Hangar sits out on the far southern end of the Garrison’s campus. From the Keaton Building, where Pidge has her lab set up, it’s a good fifteen-to-twenty-minute walk for most people.

Shiro makes it in ten, without breaking a sweat. He can’t say for sure if that’s down to the runs that he squeezes in every morning without fail, the overwhelming love in his heart for Keith, or the Druidic enhancements giving Shiro a top sprinting speed of a hundred-twenty kilometers per hour and a top speed of fifty km/h for sustained running where he really pushes himself. Whichever idea gets closest to the truth, Shiro ambles into the hangar before anybody’s disembarked from the _Gamelia_ , their transport from this mission.

Griffin, Rizavi, and Leifsdottir emerge first, with the ladies trailing behind Adam’s human hurricane of a surrogate brother, right-hand man, and protégé. Stomping like Adam wouldn’t get him a pony for Hanukkah, Griffin only pauses to adjust himself because the bag he’s hauling slipped off his shoulder. He groans over this relatively minor inconvenience as if the universe is ending, and when he shoots a bitter stare at Shiro, Griffin might as well have clouds of cartoon smoke billowing from his ears. More so than usual, one wrong word might reawaken the rage he’s worked so hard to rein in.

“Absolutely fucking ridiculous,” Griffin grumbles, shaking his head as he trudges toward the exit.

Shiro could let that statement go. He _could_ leave well enough alone—but instead, he prods, “What’s so ridiculous?”

Radiating both deep resentment and profound outrage, Griffin scowls. “Nothing, _sir_.”

“Really? Because it doesn’t _sound_ like nothing.” This only makes Griffin glower more intensely. Still, Shiro pulls himself up to full height, folds his arms over his chest, and insists, “It _sounds_ like you’re upset about something. If it had anything to do with the mission—”

“No offense, Admiral? But that doesn’t make it _any_ of your business—”

“Matters involving the future of the Intergalactic Alliance of Planets _are_ my business—”

“Not _this_ matter, though, okay? Because it’s not _about_ the future of the Alliance—”

“ _Seriously_ , Jimothy?” As Rizavi drops her chin onto Griffin’s shoulder, she groans with the air of a young woman who’s had far too many versions of this argument in the past few days alone. “Even if he _weren’t_ completely right? I’m pretty sure Kogane’s involvement makes _all_ of this the Admiral’s business.”

“Wait, what?” Shiro’s grip tightens around his elbow, and his heart skips at least three beats. “What happened with Keith? Is he all right?”

“Nothing—ugh, _Jesus_ , are you—like, _really_?” Griffin rolls his eyes so hard, it’s a miracle they stay inside his head. “If you care so much about Kogane, why couldn’t you just _marry him_ already like a _normal_ person!”

That outburst echoes off the vaulted metal ceilings around them, but it quickly peters out. Silence storms into the hangar, next, and sits itself down. From the normally loquacious Rizavi to the tech crews divvying up their duties, to Griffin himself, everyone goes quiet. If Shiro didn’t know better—if he couldn’t see the hangar and the Marmora transport craft and the Garrison uniforms around them—he would think they’d lost their collective way in Père-Lachaise, Lafayette, or another cemetery of more or less equal importance to Shiro’s personal sense of aesthetics.

With most of the hangar’s occupants looking his way, Griffin hunches his shoulders. Watching him fold in on himself like this, Shiro feels like he’s glimpsed something deeply private, even indecent. Griffin’s cheeks flush scarlet as he ducks his chin, unable to meet Shiro’s eye. He seems to breathe more easily when Rizavi backs up, but when she reaches for his arm, he bats her hand away. Most of the time, when Griffin shifts into a sullen mood like this, he pouts and broods and snaps at anyone who gets within arm’s reach.

Now, however, he mumbles a half-hearted, _“Sorry, Admiral Shirogane”_ and scuttles away. Rizavi gives Shiro a limp salute before jogging off after her flight-partner—which leaves only Leifsdottir. Blinking up at Shiro with her impassive, heavy-lidded eyes, Leifsdottir sighs. As ever, she doesn’t have an easy time emoting, but if Shiro had to guess, he’d say she wants to look disconsolate. Or maybe plaintive.

Then again, maybe he’s only picking up on how he feels with her watching him, face neither empty nor lifeless, but blank enough to feel _odd_. A coherent read on her expression might help, but per her usual, Leifsdottir defies all Shiro’s attempts at interpreting her.

“Apologies, and, if I may? Please don’t punish Jimothy too severely, sir?” She puts in the blatantly personal request as if reading student names off a prof’s attendance list. “He… has a lot to be upset about, at present.”

“I wasn’t planning to punish him?” Shiro _could_ , if he wanted; technically, Griffin violated the Garrison’s rules of decorum. Yet, as he tells Leifsdottir, “Whatever’s going on must’ve rattled him pretty badly, if he’s acting like that.”

An explanation for _why_ Griffin’s upset wouldn’t hurt, but Leifsdottir only salutes before running after Griffin and Rizavi. Vaguely, as he watches Leifsdottir exit, Shiro wonders where Kinkade’s gotten off to; he can hardly recall seeing _any_ three of Adam’s ducklings without the fourth in tow. Nothing serious could’ve happened to Kinkade, not without Keith or Adam sending a distress signal, which they didn’t.

For that matter, where in the Hell is _Keith_?

Either way, Kinkade’s fellow members of the Ares Squadron leave Shiro standing alone near the hangar’s threshold, with the tech crews making comical looks as they try to avoid gawking at the youngest Admiral in Galaxy Garrison history. Any stray glance his way results in someone paling or blushing bright pink, fumbling back to work before Shiro can invent an excuse to reprimand them. He wouldn’t want to do that, but as he slinks toward the _Gamelia_ , the air practically buzzes with the unmistakable urgency of people who hope that they look busy.

Hesitating outside the transport-craft’s door, Shiro doesn’t know if he should let himself in or not. Before he can make up his mind, Acxa, Zethrid, and Ezor slog out, toting their own gear. None of them salutes him, and only Acxa even bothers nodding politely at Shiro. As Blades, they have no hard and fast codes of decorum for addressing him, and if those rules did exist, Keith wouldn’t bother enforcing them. Even so, it stings that his right-hand woman, primary weapons specialist, and chief intelligence officer barge past Shiro without stopping, as if they can’t possibly put enough distance between themselves and him.

To add insult to injury, Zethrid and Ezor glance back at him, then immediately start snickering. Whatever brilliant punchline they have in mind, Shiro doesn’t bother asking. Sure, they’ve given up the outlaw and would-be pirate-warlord life, but it hasn’t made their typical senses of humor any less unnerving.

Turning back to the _Gamelia_ , Shiro sighs in relief. No signs of Keith or Kinkade yet, but Adam’s dragging himself down the gangway. Faded, disgruntled pink against his clear, brown skin, the scar on his forehead and right eyebrow peeks out from behind his messy bangs. The exposed sections gleam under the hangar’s overhead lights. Adam got that mark from the same place that Shiro got the scar splashed across his nose and cheeks, albeit under somewhat different circumstances. As Haggar’s Druids cauterized a wound Shiro sustained in the arena, so did a Fire of Purification medic close up a gash on Adam’s head before handing their new prisoner off to Sendak.

Three years on from the end of the war and a little over four since Sendak’s defeat, Adam has found something that he calls peace. He smirks fondly and, without fussing, lets Shiro pull him into a hug. He squeezes Shiro in return and pats his back—good. At least _one_ thing about this homecoming hasn’t wandered off into the realms of things that, for the life of him, Shiro can’t explain.

Then, as he and Shiro separate, Adam’s expression melts into somberness.

“Okay, _seriously_ ,” Shiro huffs before he can think to stop himself. “What is everyone’s _problem_ , today?”

“Well, I have several possible answers for that,” Adam deadpans. “Do you want me to go alphabetically, chronologically from the initial injury, in order of relative severity, in order of relevance to the current situation—”

“What even _is_ the current situation, Sunshine? I only know that I came to meet Keith, but he’s not here and everybody on this crew is acting _weird._ ” Which could serve as a perfectly fine explanation—but in the interests of fairness, Shiro sighs and adds, “I mean, Zethrid, Ezor, and Leifsdottir were acting normal by their standards. Granted, Leifsdottir doesn’t _usually_ look so melancholy while apologizing for Griffin when he goes off at someone, but he doesn’t normally go off at _me_ in the first place, so…”

As he trails off, Shiro quirks his shoulders by way of admitting that he has no idea what to make of Adam’s right-hand duckling, his expert tactician duckling, or how they and Rizavi behaved before skulking away.

Cringing, Adam nods in recognition of Lord only knows what. “Yeah, uh… James? He has a _lot_ to be upset about—”

“So Leifsdottir said. But she didn’t _specify_ anything—”

“Don’t blame her, okay? We sort of got into a mess on Kyrox—not the kind of mess where we needed _backup_ —”

“Look, it’s _fine_ if Griffin’s upset about things? But for him to backslide on controlling his anger like that—”

“Extenuating circumstances from the lowest pits of your Catholic God’s Hell, Starlight.” Taking a deep breath, Adam drags his fingers through his hair. Pushing it off his face lets the whole world see his scar, clear as day and gnarled—until, at a loss for whatever words he’s looking for, Adam shakes his head. “Look, the thing is—you know how easily people wander into misunderstandings when dealing with other cultures, right? More so in outer space? Among aliens? Especially when people don’t really communicate—”

“Wait.” Shiro frowns. “If you had an issue with the universal translators, why didn’t Sam get a bug report about it?”

After all this time, a rush still shudders through Shiro over using his mentor’s personal names with impunity. It’s warm and borderline intoxicating, as if Shiro’s driving 50 km/h over the speed limit in the wrong lane and a stolen car. Somehow, defying all common sense, calling him _“Sam”_ rather than _“Rear Admiral Holt”_ feels so much naughtier and more forbidden than most of the entries on Shiro’s actual list of misdeeds, transgressions, sins, and assorted experiments that one generally does not discuss among polite company.

Adam, on the other hand, tugs on his hair again. “The translators work fine, actually. Better than fine. The problem I’m talking about—y’know, the one that held us up—was more cultural than linguistic? Or, well, social _and_ cultural in general, as opposed to being so specifically—and in particular? I mean that _clashing_ cultures—”

“The Kyroxians want to join the Alliance, though. What do they have to clash about?”

“A lot of things, to hear them tell it, but they mostly clash with each other—”

“I know that; I mean, why would they try to argue or fight with representatives _from_ the Allied Planets?”

“That makes it sound like a more obvious, vitriolic conflict than it was, like? Like, with pain, and suffering, and…” Groaning softly, Adam pouts like he can’t believe what he’s about to say. “By ‘clashing,’ I don’t mean there was any bad blood—not for the most part, anyway—but just? Different traditions coming in contact with each other, and some people interpret certain actions one way while other people… disagree?”

“Sunshine, _please_ tell me you and the team didn’t offend the Kyroxian Head of State—”

“Oh, no, dealing with High Priest K’lyash went _fine_ … for the _most part_ —”

“Why do you keep saying, ‘for the most part’—”

“Well, if you’d kindly let me finish _explaining_ that, Takashi?” Eyebrows arching expectantly, Adam holds his arms open in the universal sign for _come at me_ or _what do you want from me_. A quick by-your-leave gets him going again, though: “Things on Kyrox, on the whole, went perfectly fine. However, there were some hiccups that started small and while they currently haven’t jeopardized anything on an intergalactic scale, some of the more, y’know, microcosmic, _personal_ effects of these events…”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Adam huffs. “So, you know how one of the big social problems that Alliance has had is getting every member planet to recognize marriages from other planets and figuring out all the nuances of making it work? Because marriage is complicated, because every planet has at least four or five different spiritual and/or legal traditions about it, and what it means, and the ways people can enter into it?”

“Adam, _please_.” At the risk of seeming not to take this seriously, Shiro lets himself slouch. Arms folded over his chest, he meets Adam’s bemused blinking with a flat expression. “I think I would _know_ if you’d run off and gotten hitched in Space Vegas, possibly by some alien cosplaying as Nimbus Discord from _Killbot Phantasm VII: Emanations of Adonýr_ —”

“Excuse me, do I _look_ like my boyfriends to you—”

“For one thing, the gossip rags would glom all over a stunt like that. For another, significantly more important thing, though?” Shiro quirks his shoulders. “Lance and Lotor would be devastated—”

“ _I’m_ not the one who got married, Takashi. Now, will you _please_ shut up and—”

Adam might keep talking, but Shiro doesn’t hear. His ears perk up for a different set of sounds: a _bamf!_ sound, followed by air crackling, and then, a loud, familiar bark and paws thumping toward him.

Shiro welcomes Kosmo with a grin. Without hesitation, Kosmo charges right at Shiro’s open arms, rears up on his haunches, and drapes his forelegs over Shiro’s shoulders. He leans his head back, laughing heartily as Kosmo assails him with kisses, ruffling his hands all over Kosmo’s thick fur and massive neck. If not for Shiro’s desperate need to reunite with Keith, he could easily stay here all day, petting Keith’s cosmic wolf.

Instead, a sharp whistle calls Kosmo away. Shiro can’t even be mad about it, not with Keith coming toward him. As always, Shiro’s heart leaps into his throat at the sight of Keith. Ever since Shiro realized how he feels and what he truly wants, every time seeing Keith feels like something entirely new, even when he hasn’t had some kind of magical, late-game quantum abyss growth spurt.

It happened after they fought Zarkon for the first time, when Keith and Shiro were stranded on that barren wasteland of a planet, with its giant death-lizards and its gravity that rivaled Jupiter’s. Down on Shiro’s side, his glowing wound pulsed as though it had a life of its own. Life, or something like life. All the meditative breathing techniques that Ojiisan and Uncle Mitch had ever tried to teach Shiro, they didn’t make a difference. Didn’t help calm him down. His body ached, his brain banged like a poltergeist against his skull, and his heart would not stop racing. Worse, each time his head throbbed, it sang the same refrain: _“I’m going to die.”_

Half-delirious with pain and hunger, certain that their team wouldn’t save them in time, Shiro focused on Keith and nothing else. If he wasn’t gonna make it, then at least he could go out with his mind fixed on the image of someone he cared for. He didn’t expect such a golden, sunny, inexplicably _pink_ feeling to wash over him. Drinking in the high arches of Keith’s cheekbones, the fine, knife’s-edge point of his chin, and the soft gleam in his huge, impossibly beautiful eyes—it was nearly too much for Shiro to take.

He would’ve had enough to handle, only realizing how pretty Keith is. How Shiro didn’t die after cluing in to what he felt and what it meant, he doesn’t know. Considering he didn’t do anything to help himself right then—there wasn’t much that he could’ve done—Shiro assumes that his survival partly came from Pidge and Allura having this universe’s best of all possible timing. Mostly, though, he made it out alive because Keith refused to give up on him.

Looking toward Keith now, Shiro feels like he could die all over again. That face, those eyes, the thick, black braid skirting his narrow waist—Keith’s details haven’t changed too much since he left, but after not seeing him in person for several weeks, they sledgehammer into Shiro. Everything about him threatens to make Shiro’s heart stop, from Keith’s long strides to his exquisite neck and the choker wrapped around it. Watching Keith’s over-tunic swish, Shiro can’t decide whether to curse that thing for existing or say a silent prayer of thanks. On one hand, Keith’s lean, gorgeous gazelle-legs stretch beyond Heaven, and with his Marmora armor clinging to them, his thighs are borderline obscene.

On the other hand, damn that fabric for not letting Shiro sneak a good look.

At least Keith goes in for a hug before Shiro can dwell too much on anything. More than anything else in the universe, scooping Keith up and holding him close feels right. Wonderfully, unspeakably _right._ He squeezes Shiro like letting go might kill them both. With a sharp inhale, he buries his face in Shiro’s shoulder. Nuzzling at his temple gets Shiro a soft, approving sound, and when he ghosts his organic hand down the back of Keith’s head, Shiro would swear that he hears Keith purring. Whether or not that’s real, Keith twists his head and angles into Shiro’s embrace.

“So, about that message,” Shiro says as Keith burrows deeper into him. “You weren’t kidding about the rough situation, then?”

Keith shakes his head, rubbing his face against Shiro’s neck. “ _Understatement_.”

“What happened, Baby? Please, you can tell me.”

“You don’t wanna know. I mean, you _need_ to, but trust me, Shiro—”

“Trust _me_ , Keith. Whatever the problem is, you don’t have to deal with it alone—”

“I’m _not_ —not even _trying_ , I just?” He hugs like he could crush Shiro’s rib-cage in this embrace, almost like he intends to do so. “The Kyroxians have this temple, right? It’s huge, _massive_ , dedicated to the four gods at the center of their pantheon. And it’s beautiful, but they didn’t tell us about one part of it, not until…”

The way Keith trails off makes Shiro’s lungs wrench like they want to burst clean out of him. Keith’s voice drops, and his next breath sounds like he’s shivering. His grip slackens without letting go of Shiro. Keith lets his arms drop to Shiro’s waist, which would feel indecent if he actually thought Keith would take that further—which Keith won’t. He never has, he never does, and in all likelihood, he never will. When his hands wander to the small of Shiro’s back, it only happens because that’s their natural resting place for now, not because Keith wants to touch Shiro in any other ways.

Despite that, Keith wriggles around and tries to worm away. He doesn’t need to put any distance between himself and Shiro. He doesn’t _need_ to respect the boundaries of personal space that Shiro enforces on most other people—but Keith leans back far enough to let Shiro see his choker.

Shiro’s never seen this necklace before. Not on Keith and not on Krolia, who probably gave it to him. If Keith were the type to romance beautiful aliens during missions, Shiro might get jealous, taking the choker for a favor that some sweetheart gave Keith. It’s probably a Marmoran charm of protection or similar. Under the hangar’s lights, the black band shines like silk or satin, flat against his skin except right around the intricate knot that sits directly above his Adam’s apple. A large, round, vividly crimson charm dangles down from the knot and rests on Keith’s skin, skirting the top of his clavicle.

“May I?” Shiro waits for Keith to nod before lifting the charm. He snorts, kneading his organic fingers against the smooth surface—but that makes Keith scrunch his face up in a frown. “Sorry, Baby, I—this isn’t? I’m not saying the situation’s funny? You’re upset; that isn’t funny. But with such a fiery color, I was expecting… I didn’t think it’d feel so cold?”

If anything’s an understatement, it’s this. Holding the charm feels like palming an ice cube.

“Well, I didn’t expect to bring it home.” Keith huffs miserably, ducking his chin. “I tried to get out of that, Shiro. After I got this, I did everything—whatever I could think of—but I—”

“Why wouldn’t you want to keep it?” Humming, Shiro runs his thumb over the charm’s engraving. Filled in with a silvery inlay, the glyph doesn’t look like the Marmoran symbols or sigils that Shiro’s ever seen. It doesn’t look like _Galra_ writing, either. The characters in the Galra alphabet tend toward sharp angles and harsh silhouettes; their pictograms follow similar patterns. Everything about Galra writing tries to convey a sense of raw power.

The symbol carved into Keith’s charm, on the other hand, seems softer, at a first glance. Its deep grooves suggest that someone required a great deal of time and strength to carve this design, but the intricate curves that make up the picture have a feeling that Shiro can only describe as lyrical. No, the description isn’t appropriate, but no other word comes to his mind. Somehow, this little work of art reminds him of both the knotwork from Ojiisan’s facsimiles of Celtic illuminated manuscripts, and the prints in Obaasan’s books of shunga art, the ones that she didn’t let him read until he’d turned thirteen.

Squinting at the charm, Shiro can’t entirely tell what the symbol’s meant to be. From one angle, it looks like a dragon’s head, with long whiskers and eyes that know more than any mortal could comprehend. From another angle, though, he’d guess it’s some kind of squid-beast, a Cthulhoid nightmare that Shiro would definitely consider sleeping with, not least because doing so would scandalize H.P. Lovecraft’s spirit. Either way, the more he stares at Keith’s charm, the more the design seems sinister, like it’s deliberately hiding something terrible and knows exactly what it’s done, and the less Shiro understands of anything.

Regardless of his own ignorance, Shiro insists, “Seriously, Keith, it’s really nice. Maybe not your usual style, but I like it—”

“That’s not what I _meant_!”

Like Griffin’s before him, Keith’s voice echoes off the hangar’s walls and ceiling. Shiro doesn’t flinch or jerk back, but over to the side, Adam winces. A splash of scarlet flares up on Keith’s cheeks, but only briefly. The color drains out of him as he raises his head; by the time he meets Shiro’s gaze, Keith’s taken on a deathly pallor. As he trembles, one of his hands grasps at Shiro’s jacket, balling up in the fabric, clutching on like this is Keith’s last chance to save himself from drowning.

“It’s… The necklace?” Keith shakes his head, flipping his bangs off of his face. “It’s a Kyroxian marriage symbol. Like a wedding ring. Not that I knew—neither— _none_ of us—they didn’t tell us, or—”

“I don’t—what, you…” Without his consent, Shiro’s voice dries up. His throat might’ve disappeared entirely. His head spins. Reels, like someone’s slapped him with a hardback Oxford English Dictionary. He can’t breathe. But he must keep breathing because he doesn’t pass out. Distantly, like he’s underwater with cotton-balls in his ears, he hears his voice say, “Did you… Keith, what are you—”

“I got married, Shiro.” Eyes glistening, Keith gulps. “To Kinkade.”

 _No_ , Shiro’s brain protests, everything inside him shrieking that this is wrong, this couldn’t be real. _No, no, NO. This_ ** _cannot_** _be happening_ —but when he looks for reassurance, Adam gives a solemn nod.

“See what I meant?” He says thickly, “About marriage, and complicated circumstances, and misunderstandings with aliens?”

Glancing over at the _Gamelia_ , Shiro finally spots one, Ryan Kinkade. Although he bows his head and slouches like he’s gotten busted stealing from the cookie jar, Kinkade can’t disguise his height. He shuffles to Keith’s side and mumbles something that’s likely an apology or an explanation or maybe an affirmation that they didn’t jeopardize diplomatic relations with the Kyroxians, they swear. Any of those options would make sense, but Shiro can’t hear anything over his own desire to scream himself so raw, he won’t speak a word for weeks.

Now, with Keith, and Adam, and Kinkade all watching him—this would be a perfect time for Shiro’s alleged gift with words to rear its head. With how many inspirational speeches he’s ever delivered, he ought to say something kind and understanding, something heartening and gentle, something that promises to make this situation right, whatever it takes.

But when Shiro relocates his voice, the only thing he has to say is, “…Oh.”

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * Personal reactions/interpretations
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
>   * Comments made with the [LLF Comment Builder](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/post/170952243543/now-presenting-the-llf-comment-builder-beta).
> 

> 
> The author reads and appreciates all comments, and gets back to all of them eventually, but may be slow to reply due to trying to rein in the ADHD/anxiety cocktail.
> 
> If, for any reason, you don’t want to receive a reply, just put, “whisper” near the start of your comment, and I’ll appreciate it without replying.
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> * * *
> 
> As ever, I’m also on Tumblr ( **[amorremanet](http://amorremanet.tumblr.com/)** , though not quite as often anymore), Pillowfort ( **[amorremanet](https://www.pillowfort.io/amorremanet)** ), Dreamwidth ( **[amor_remanet](http://amor-remanet.dreamwidth.org/)** ), Twitter ( **[amorremanet](https://twitter.com/amorremanet/)** ), and Discord ( **amorremanet#5500** ), and I always love talking about Shiro, hurt/comfort, gay shit, and Shiro.


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